Viking Passion (34 page)

There was music, made by a group of
exotic-looking men and women with brightly-printed scarves on their
heads and golden earrings made of coins. The women danced and
deftly scooped up the money thrown by the onlookers, tucking it
into their bosoms without missing a step, while the men prodded a
trained bear to do tricks.

Maura clung to Erik’s arm, wide-eyed and
pale, nearly overcome by the pressure of the throng through which
they slowly made their way.

On Erik’s other side, Lenora moved in a
near-dream, looking eagerly from side to side, afraid she might
miss something, breathing in and absorbing all the smells, even the
unpleasant ones, wanting to stop to look at and touch the
merchandise and listen to the strange voices in this great city in
which she had imagined herself since first Erik told her of it.

Georgios was openly pleased by this
provincial woman’s delight in his native city, but he would not
allow her to stop. He hurried the three foreigners on through the
busy market to a narrow side street only a little quieter than the
main thoroughfare, then to another, narrower street where it was
quieter still, though by Lenora’s standards noisy and crowded with
men rushing past them on the way to conduct unknown business.

They came to a neighborhood of houses two or
three stories tail, faced with brick and stone in geometric
designs, with arched windows overlooking the street. The tall
buildings blocked out much of the light and heat from the sun,
making the street seem dark and damp.

Georgios stopped before the ornate portico of
one house and rapped on the iron door. It opened slowly. An elderly
man looked out at them.

They had washed themselves and tried to brush
and tidy their clothes, but they were a distinctly bedraggled trio,
especially in contrast to Georgios, with his oiled, carefully
combed curls and scarlet cloak.

Lenora’s silk gown, once blue-green, was by
now faded closer to gray, dirty, torn, and water-spotted. Maura had
long ago lost the belt from her undyed woolen dress, and it hung
from her thin shoulders in ill-fitting folds. She was barefoot.
Erik’s untrimmed hair, heavy black beard, and the scar over his
left eye all made him look like a pirate. When he stepped boldly
forward the old man closed the door a little, glancing anxiously at
Georgios as if for help.

“Tell your master Erik the Far-traveler is
here. He will remember me.”

“My master is not at home.”

The servant tried to close the door, but Erik
caught it and pushed it wide open. He strode inside, beckoning his
companions to follow.

Georgios spoke in quick Greek, and the old
man seemed to lose some of his anxiety.

“I will leave you here,” Georgios said.
“Perhaps we will meet again. Spyros will deal with you now.” With a
polite bow, their guide disappeared out the door.

“Is your mistress still the lady Eirena?”
Erik demanded of the elderly Spyros.

“She will not see you,” sputtered the
servant. “She would not expose herself to the indignity of an
interview with barbarians. We have armed guards here. I will call
them if you do not leave at once.”

“I am no barbarian. I am a friend of Basil
Panopoulos and of his sister, who was once my nurse. You will be
punished if you do not tell them I am here.”

The servant’s expressive face showed his
fearful reaction to Erik’s threat. “Wait in this room.”

Spyros left, and a moment later a tall,
muscular man entered. He stood impassively by the inner door, a
gleaming sword in his hand. He never took his eyes off Erik.

“Is this a palace?” Maura whispered. “I
thought your Basil was a merchant. I have never seen a house like
this before.”

Lenora looked about her. The entrance hall
had a high, vaulted ceiling and a marble floor. On the walls were
painted murals of hunting scenes. The only furniture was a long
stone bench at one side of the front door. Lenora imagined would-be
visitors sitting in a row on the bench, waiting to gain admission
to the presence of Basil or his sister.

They were made to wait a very long time.
Maura eventually sank down on the hard stone bench and leaned her
head against the wall. Lenora wandered about the room, looking at
the murals. Only Erik stood quietly in the center of the room,
waiting patiently.

At last there was a sound from behind the
tall guard. The servant Spyros had returned.

“I have told my mistress of your presence,”
he said, his tone revealing just how offensive that presence was to
him, “and also of your disgraceful appearance. She will see you,
but you must wait here. You will not be admitted to the house until
she is certain you are who you claim to be.” As he finished
speaking a woman entered the hall.

Eirena Panopoulos was twenty-six, one year
older than Erik. She was elegant rather than beautiful, a tiny,
small-boned woman, with large brown eyes, a high-bridged nose, and
full red lips. Her black hair was braided with silk ribbons and
coiled around her head in an ornate style, leaving frizzy curls on
her forehead. She wore a long, wide-sleeved gown of deep green
silk, into the fabric of which was woven a red-and-gold flower
pattern. Around her shoulders was draped a shawl of brilliant
orange, patterned in blue and yellow, with a border of gold
threads. She wore heavy gold and carnelian earrings.

Her posture was stiffly erect, her movements
carefully controlled. She advanced a few steps into the room and
stood still, studying the three travelers before her.

Lenora felt Eirena’s eyes on her with a cold,
dark gaze, speaking nothing of warmth or welcome. Looking back at
that exotic, glittering apparition, Lenora felt like the crudest of
country wenches. If all the inhabitants of Grikkland were like this
one, it was no wonder they thought the Norsemen, with their rough
woolen clothes and easy, open manners, were barbarians.

Lenora could see Eirena had impressed Maura
in the same way. Maura had risen from the stone bench and moved to
a position where she was partly hidden behind Erik, yet could still
have an uninterrupted view of this vision of Byzantine
splendor.

Eirena had been regarding Erik carefully,
from a safe distance, as though she feared he would smell bad if
she got too close. A faint smile barely touched her beautifully
painted features.

“It is you,” she finally said. “Erik. After
so long a time. I could not believe it when the Prefect sent word
you had come.”

She spoke slowly. Lenora could not understand
everything Eirena said, but the Greek Erik had taught her at
Thorkellshavn and had insisted on speaking with her and Maura
during the last days of their journey, now stood her in good
stead.

She could at least make out the general
meaning of Eirena’s words.

“I apologize for coming before you clothed
like this,” Erik said formally, “but my journey has been long and
arduous, and I have no other garments. When we were permitted to
enter the city we came directly here.”

The smile on Eirena’s face became just a
little more pronounced and now spread to her eyes. She took one
step forward.

“You were so eager to see me again that you
forgot your manners? How like you, my impetuous love,” she said. “I
knew I was right to wait for you. I always knew you would return to
me. Erik,
agape mou
, my beloved, enter my home and be
welcome.”

Early September

To Late October,

A.D. 868

A manservant appeared to lead Erik away. The
women were conducted by another servant through the interior of
Basil’s house to a large, second-floor chamber decorated with
mosaic floors and walls and containing a huge metal tub. Eirena,
who had accompanied them, gave abrupt orders to two female
servants, then disappeared without explanation. One of the servants
approached Lenora.

“
Te banio
,” she said carefully, as
though speaking to a child. “
Nea foremata
.”

“What are they going to do to us?” Maura
asked fearfully.

“We are to take baths and put on new clothes.
They won’t hurt us,” Lenora assured her. “These people are Erik’s
friends.”

Lenora did not mention her shock at Eirena’s
manner of greeting Erik. She hoped she had misunderstood Eirena’s
words, which had seemed to confirm her own fears about the Greek
woman’s relationship with Erik.

They bathed and washed their hair with the
assistance of the servants. Afterward they were led to meet Eirena
in a luxurious bedchamber. The windows of this room looked out over
the water to hazy purple land in the distance. Lenora hurried to
the window to see the view.

“That is Asia,” Eirena informed her. “Over
there lies Anatolia. It is part of the Empire too.”

“Where is Erik?” Lenora turned away from the
window in time to surprise a flash of suspicion in Eirena’s eyes at
the mention of Erik’s name.

“He is being cared for as you are. He has
asked that we all eat together this evening. You will see him
then.”

“Will Basil be there too?” Maura asked
timidly. “Erik has told us so much about him. I would like to meet
him.”

“My brother is in Thessalonica on business,”
Eirena said. “He will return in another week or so.”

They were given silk gowns to wear, cut
straight and full in the Greek style, but caught at the waist with
corded belts, and with long, wide sleeves. From their size, Lenora
suspected these clothes were Eirena’s castoffs.

Maura was so tall her pale green gown did not
reach her ankles, and the sleeves were far too short. She pulled
the belt tightly around her narrow waist.

“It will have to do,” Eirena said
impatiently, and turned to Lenora.

Lenora’s dress was a light brown, brocaded in
deep blue and red, with a red belt. It was almost long enough, but
she had bigger bones than Eirena, and her figure was fuller. The
gown was too tight, especially across the bosom. Each time she
moved, Lenora was certain the seams would split.

“Your skin is too brown. It’s disgusting,”
Eirena said, looking at Lenora critically.

“I have been in the sun every day,” Lenora
said mildly, not wanting to antagonize the woman. She noticed
Eirena’s olive complexion was smooth and untanned, and she was
carefully made up. “Could I wear paint too?”

“Lenora,” Maura gasped. “Why would you want
to do such a thing? Only wicked women wear paint.”

“This is a civilized city, and we use
cosmetics,” Eirena said sharply. “If you are going to stay in
Constantinople, you must do the same.”

She commanded her servants to bring
cosmetics, and with their assistance Lenora applied color to eyes
and cheeks and lips. Maura watched in fascination, and when Eirena
stepped out of the room, she dipped her own finger into a pot, and,
giggling, tried a little red on her pale cheeks.

They were conducted to yet another room,
where they were to dine. The walls of this chamber were painted
with flowers and trees and with the figures of men and women in
ancient Greek costumes who were consuming an assortment of exotic
foods, all depicted in bright colors. The floor of the room was
pale marble; the table and chairs were carved and gilded wood with
blue silk cushions. The dining room opened onto an inner courtyard,
where bright flowers bloomed in carved marble pots and a marble
fountain played.

When Erik appeared Lenora hardly recognized
him. His ragged beard was gone and his hair was trimmed just below
his ears in the Greek style, with a fringe across his brow.

“I see your old clothes still fit. I saved
them for you,” Eirena told him.

He did look handsome, in a knee-length tunic
of deep blue silk, edged in gold and green embroidery, and a gold
belt. His hose were a lighter blue and his shoes were of fine, soft
leather.

He was gravely polite to Eirena, but when he
looked at Lenora over the Greek woman’s head, she saw laughter in
his emerald eyes.

“You two look much improved,” he teased.
“Thank you for helping them, Eirena. You are very kind.”

“I am happy to do whatever you wish,” Eirena
replied.

Lenora had the odd feeling Eirena was not
happy at all, but was in fact angry that Erik had appeared on her
doorstep with two female companions. She thought Eirena would have
much preferred to have Erik all to herself.

They ate a meat soup, followed by roast kid
with onions, leeks, and garlic, and a dish of rice and lentils, all
washed down with a resinous wine. Then they were served fruits and
honey tarts. The food was heavy and oily, but after the meager
rations available on the trip from Kiev, they all ate heartily.

When the meal was finished, Eirena spoke to
one of her ever-present maidservants, and then to Lenora. As she
had done before, she spoke slowly and carefully, leaving Lenora
with the impression that Eirena wanted to make certain her ignorant
northern guests could understand the elegant Greek speech of their
hostess.

“You will be shown to your sleeping chamber
now. I know you must be tired after your long journey. Feel free to
sleep as late as you wish tomorrow. I will give orders you are not
to be disturbed.”

“Erik?” Lenora looked at him in perplexity.
He must know she wanted to speak with him, to learn what his plans
were for her. Would he free her a second time, now they were safely
in Miklagard? She was suddenly uncertain about wanting her freedom
from him.

It was apparent Eirena did not know her true
situation. Sure her haughty hostess would swiftly banish her to the
servant’s quarters or worse if she ever found out, Lenora did not
dare to mention it until she and Erik were alone. But when would
that be? There he was, standing relaxed and smiling at Eirena’s
side, and bidding her and Maura good night.